Little Dead Girl
by shewhowearsglasses
Summary: She was only ten. Dean/Castiel


**I rewrote this, because it wasn't getting many reviews, SO I instead am posting it in its entirety as a oneshot. I wrote it for Creative Writing! Hope you like it!**

**So, this is Fighting Fire.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I DO own the universe, so sue me, Eric Kripke.**

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**Little Dead Girl**

Running and running and running. There was heat, but he couldn't think about that. If he thought about the heat, then he'd think about the danger and the possible death that could befall him. And if he thought about dying, he might stop, and he could not stop. He could never stop.

So, he ran. And he reached and reached until the small, screaming bundle was safely tucked under his arm, "shh." He whispered as he jumped over a fallen door.

When he ducked through the doorway, applause erupted around him. He looked up, not remembering the dozens of people now surrounding him; their eyes glowed happiness as they cheered for him. He frowned, confused by the new setting. "What-"

"You're a hero, Winchester!" Someone was shouting.

"A hero!" They echoed.

"Hope you're prepared for the fame, kid!" The captain chanted as he clapped him on the back, tugging the small baby from his arms. "Com'ere sweetie, let's get you back to your mommy."

Dean watched the small child disappear and couldn't help the bubble that burst inside his stomach. He was a hero. He'd gone back in for that child when all others said it was suicide. He'd saved a life today. He grinned slowly, the realization blooming in his stomach like the flames that licked over the windows of the very building he'd just exited.

He returned home late, the clock tolled midnight just as he stepped over the threshold, an abandoned welcome mat lying clean against his wall. He really should put that up. Oh well, another chore he would never do.

The news blared from his living room, and then the phone was blaring too. "Hello?"

"Dean? Your names all over the news! You saved a fucking baby?!"

"Sammy, that you?" Dean laughed, making himself comfortable on the couch as his brother shouted his praise from the other line. "Yeah, guess I did. Dean Winchester, local hero, wouldn't ya know?"

"Nice job, man! Jess says so too! You're a hero!" Dean could hear the man's grin even from miles apart, "I might even need to buy you dinner for this! Jesus, Dean. I'm so proud of you."

Dean stopped laughing, a genuine smile blossoming across his lips, "thanks, Sam."

"This the first of many?"

"Let's hope so."

And it was. Dean Winchester's name became synonymous with hero that winter, and it continued to mean just that for 3 years and on into the future. Dean Winchester was a reckless wonder, but that danger that followed his footsteps like a shadow saved lives, dozens of lives at that. The young recruits looked up to him, the older firefighters held a respect for him that not many could match.

Dean Winchester was a hero.

The doors to apartments 5B and 5C opened in unison, both occupants stared up at each other in surprise. The startling clash of bright green and lively blue shocked Dean, who'd yet to meet his new neighbor. "Hello, Dean." The man said, "I heard you almost died again last night."

Dean nearly choked on his spit, "um hi? You must be...?"

"Castiel. Castiel Novak." He introduced.

"Well, hi Castiel! Nice to meet you, now I'd-"

"Are you hurt? Or was it a false article I read in the newspaper this morning?" Castiel interrupted, obviously insistent on receiving an answer.

"What's with you, man? I barely know you and you're already wondering about specific injuries? Jesus!" Dean narrowed his eyes at the man, he was wearing a long trench coat and had a skinny blue tie. His hair was dark and ruffled as if he'd jumped out of bed and walked right out the door. Dean closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and pointer finger to his nose, sighing loudly.

"I was just wondering, Dean. You seem to put yourself in the path of danger quite often. Or at least, from what I've heard." Castiel looked away, focusing on the pale green wallpaper pealing in the corners. The color was almost calming. "You must have a purpose behind it? Are you suicidal? Or depressed?"

"Jesus, man! Quit it! I barely know you!" Dean tried to move, pushing past his neighbor, but immediately felt him follow. "Okay! Okay! I'm lonely, I guess! Got nothing to lose, ya know? I'm all I have! Now would ya leave me be?!" He all but screamed at the strange man.

To his credit, Castiel didn't flinch. He only nodded, meeting Dean's eyes in some kind of challenge, "dinner at my place. Seven pm." The man said, before turning abruptly on his heel and wheeling back into his apartment.

Dean stared after him for what seemed like hours, wondering what the _hell_ had just happened. Finally, he allowed a small sliver of a smile to grace his lips. "Seven it is, then."

**2 Years Later**

There's a hiss seemingly out of nowhere and fire is erupting from everything but the chimney. It billows out and around the doorway; smoke clogs the nostrils of the occupants and death fills the air as skin incinerated in the fire. There's a burst of gasping before screaming is the only noise filtering through the walls. It's an endless sort of screaming that echoes through the ears of those left alive, tears spatter their ash-darkened faces and they sob into their hands for the lost. For those they cannot help.

Sirens whirl and roar over the noise of the dead and suddenly the door is open and men in yellow jumpsuits are stumbling through. "How many?" One shouts, as two others scramble up the stairs to locate those trapped behind burning doors and melting floorboards.

"There's five of us," the man is sobbing, fingers clogging out his eyes as he tries to forget the memories of their sixth member. It must have been Tessa. She was so small and she screamed easily as if everything was a joke, but this time the screech multiplied in volume. It reached ears far and wide; it tore through his stomach to create the feeling of breaking over and over. The man doubled over, his eyes leaking tears in a sloppy fashion that forced the fireman to look away.

The fireman, Dean, his name tag whispers in a gruff voice, turned to the slowly burning walls, "man, I'm sorry. Jesus." He gripped the man's arms, tugging him up in the fireman's carry his father had taught him as a child, _"like this, Dean! Hold 'em like this!"_ "You gotta help me, man. Stop trying to move, be still!" He was nearly shouting by the end, but the footsteps stampeding down the stairs created a new distraction for the broken man. "Jesus." He swore under his breath, lifting the man as best he could before sprinting from the building.

The fire chief was at the forefront of the attack, taking the man's sobbing form just as he signaled Dean to turn around, "go back, kid! Go back! There're still bodies in there!" The air was grey and black, ash danced down their masks, coating their sight with a vision of black. Dean blinked, gulping down the last breath of oxygen he could intake before swerving around two firefighters and dashing back into the house.

Dean put no thought into his movements. That's just how he did his job; the more risks, the more money, right? If he was dangerous and heroic, his name came up in headlines, and with headlines came popularity, and with popularity came promotion. Dean wasn't greedy, no. Far from it. But, he was smart, and he knew his small budget needed the boost of heroism to pay for the crummy apartment he rented on 2nd Street. Especially now that Cas was out of work; the man on the Doctor's budget had been their main source of pocket money and food for the better part of two years. So, Dean ran. He sprinted up the stairs without a care, not even noticing the way the ceiling gave away dangerously overhead. And when the telltale crack came, he dove, scooping up a screaming child without a second thought.

"Hey!" He yelled over the wreckage, reaching around to glance in at the shock of blue eyes in his arms. "Hey! You okay, kid?"

There was a scared murmur as if the child was trying to decide whether they'd survived, before Dean felt a soft nod against his chest. He grinned, but the grin didn't stretch across his lips for long when he saw the limp body underneath the rubble. He allowed the child to move away for just a moment as he stepped towards the body: it was a child of about ten years old. Her eyes were wide in a silent scream and her body was scabbed over, her hair was black where it'd caught fire, and frayed around her skull. She was only ten_. Ten_. Dean's heart sped up in his chest and suddenly it was hard to breathe. This was the first one he'd lost. Never before had he not saved everyone from the fire. He'd failed. It was his fault. But he was only allowed a moment to grieve before his arms were around the child again and he was stumbling from the building, his lips snarled together in a grimace that didn't leave his face for the rest of the night.

Dean's body hit the couch with a muffled thud; the breath left his lungs like a deflated balloon. "Dean? That you?" Came Castiel's call from three rooms down. "You home?" Cas stumbles out from the bedroom, bright eyes searching for the fiancée he may never drag to the altar. "Dean?" He asks again when he spots the dark head against the red couch cushions, "what's up?"

Dean groans, turning over to mold his face into the pillows. His tears have long since dried during the quiet ride home, and now he just wants Cas to hold him as he falls into another bout of nightmares personally tailored to fit his job description. "Not now."

"You sure?" Cas is quick to ask, moving into the spot beside him and tugging at his hair with soft, reassuring fingers. "I'm here when you wanna talk."

Dean nods against his calming fingers, pushing his cheek into the touch for a long, peaceful moment before jumping to his feet. "Bed." He mutters, looping a hand around Cas's tie and pulling the man behind him as he makes a beeline for their bedroom. His shirt and pants are off in an instant, lost in the mess of shoes and ties on the floor and his mind is screaming fire hazard! And danger! Someone could trip! But, his mind is also alerting him that the bed is _so close_ and he needs sleep. He _needs_ it. So, he gives in, flopping against the mattress as Cas pulls off his own shirt on the other side.

He's out before Cas can even kiss him goodnight.

Her eyes are bright. That's the first thing Dean notices. She's got bright eyes like a clear lake on a spring day, and dark hair like that of a messy bird's nest. Her smile is everlasting and it catches onto his lips like a disease, spreading into his eyes before he can even think of a cure. Her name is Tessa. It rings through Dean's mind without pause and he doesn't know how he knows this, she's never even opened her mouth except to giggle, but he _knows_. It's Tessa, and she's ten. And she hasn't smiled like that in 3 days.

"Dean." She says, blinking up at him like she knows everything. Like she knows about that scar above his left bicep where he fell from a tree at age 15. Like she was there when he first kissed a boy in college: Gabriel Lucas and he was horrible. Like she can hear everything he's thinking from how Cas's snoring is becoming dangerously annoying, to the little girl who died and and and-

It's her.

Tessa is the little girl. And she smirks because she_ can_ hear what he's thinking. "Dean. Dean. Dean." She sings, because she's ten and her eyes don't even try to hide the wisp of playfulness only concealed by thick bangs and dark eyelashes. "Dean."

"What do you want?" He's asking. But, his voice is too forceful and she might be frightened. How does she even know him? What does she want?

"You didn't save me, Dean." She says.

And his eyes snap open and his breathing comes out in short gasps. It's enough to wake up even Cas, who's normally a heavy sleeper, "Dean! Dean? Are you okay?" It's only seconds later than Dean is collapsing into Cas, whispering about broken girls with flame-black hair and wide eyes. His own eyes leak tears that only haunt him on the worst of occasions. "It's okay." Cas is cooing, whispering against his neck, "it's okay."

It's soothing, whether or not Dean believes what he says. It calms his heart to a dull roar, and he sighs long and hard.

The next day, he starts seeing Tessa in real life too. As if the waking nightmares weren't enough. She always wears that green pullover dress, and her eyes sparkle with mirth he cannot acknowledge because she's dead **dead**_ dead_. And she won't ever come back no matter how many times she whispers he could've saved her but didn't. No matter how many times it seems like if he could just reach out and touch her- She's dead. She's cold and dead and 6 feet under. She's dead.

She follows him everywhere like a shadow. Like a ghost, but he can't quite tell if she's even that. Is she a hallucination? Is he crazy? She looks so lifelike, but no one sees her. Not even Castiel who politely looks away when he yells back at her. Pretending it's just post-traumatic stress and Dean will be happy as a clam tomorrow. But, when tomorrow never seems to come, and a month later Tessa is still ever present in Dean's lonely world, Cas speaks up.

"Tessa is dead, Dean."

"I know, Cas! For God's sake! I know. Don't you think I'm aware of that? Jesus!" Dean is pacing as if he's just heard horrible news and he can't decide how to take it.

"Do you? Because you speak to her as if she will respond."

"She does."

Cas thinks he heard Dean, but he wants to be wrong. He doesn't want to know that Dean can see and hear a dead girl because that's crazy. And Dean's not crazy, he's solid and heroic and dangerous, but he's not crazy. "What?"

"Tessa talks to me. All the time." Dean's eyes move to his hands, his bright green eyes, normally so full of life, are dull and foggy. They cringe at Cas's frown, "I know how it sounds, Cas. But, I'm not crazy! She's- I dunno."

They don't mention Tessa after that. How can they? Dean is terrified out of his mind, and Cas has no idea what to do. Doctor or not, he can't solve the mystery of the talking dead girl. But, Dean's becoming a shadow of what he once was. His name disappears from the papers slowly. It's like he's returning to the ways of the past, before fire fighting became his life. Before Cas, before the life he'd led into the ground. But, Tessa does not leave Dean. Not until the day comes when she can finally take his hand.

His final day with Tessa is the most surprising. Dean wakes up a precisely 10:47pm to sirens and screaming. He blinks away the fog and stumbles into an alert position, reaching for the vodka he'd allowed to drop to the bed beside him. Cas is absent from the room, and from the way the small apartment feels empty, Dean assumes he's absent from the entire building. He hopes so too, no easy way to get two men out a tiny window on the fourth floor.

The fire alarm is blaring in a way that forces him to hate the object. It's obnoxious, despite the job it is doing splendidly. He tries to focus, but the blue of the wallpaper is blurry, and the floor is rushing up to greet him. He smacks his face on the boots Cas had tossed off in his hurry to get into bed the night prior. He smirks bitterly, wondering something ironic about kissing Cas's feet before his train of thought regains speed and he's running again.

Running and running and running. His pace is much slower than it would be if his vision were clear, but he can't be picky because the fire is happening now and it would take much too long to sober up right about now. He can imagine the conversation with Cas later, especially after their fight that morning: "you drink too much and you always get yourself into trouble, Dean! You need to calm down! See a therapist, maybe? Please? For me? This… Tessa thing isn't normal!"

And then Tessa is there. She is wearing that same green dress, and her lips curl in a smirk of satisfaction, "how ya gonna get out of this one, Dean?" She practically sings her words, skipping towards him on ballerina toes.

"Not now, Tessa." He mutters, reaching the door with shaky fingers and a loopy look in his green eyes.

"When, Dean? Don't you think I wanna help?"

"Then help!" He barks, but the door is open and he's already rushing down the hall. But, Tessa is quick to follow, licking at his heels like the smoke covering the floor. He coughs into his hand, wondering how long it had been since the floor was cleared of its occupants.

He turns away, noticing Tessa smiling beside the window. "Think you can save yourself, Dean? Like you saved me?"

He heads toward the stairs, preparing to climb onto the fire escape. The flowery walls are moving with the heat, and he stills, pushing his hands into his skull to ease the headache preparing to hit him. Groaning, he moves stiffly toward the open window, easing it open gently and moving to escape. But, fire is catching on the fourth floor now, so Dean steps against the wall, pressing one palm to the cool window. Tessa is dancing through the flickers of flames that enter his vision. "Dean." She sings, "Dean! Dean! Dean!"

He's unconscious quicker than he thought possible, the pounding headache he was nursing gets gentler as sleep arrives. Tessa smiles in his dream. She's always happier when he's asleep. "Dean, you're gonna die if you don't wake up."

"What're you talking about?" He asks before he can stop himself. Usually he refuses to indulge the tiny, little ghost girl.

"You're dying, Dean. The fire-"

And he wakes back up. While the dream lasted only seconds, in reality, an hour has passed and he's still stuck on the quickly burning fourth floor. He curses, rising up on shaky limbs. Tessa tugs at his shirt, pulling him to the open window, "Dean." Her eyes are wide in a silent scream and her body is scabbed over, her hair is black where it caught fire, and frayed around her skull. She's only ten. _Ten._ Dean freezes up, because she's dead. She's dead. Tessa is just a little dead girl and why is she even helping him in the first place? All this time she's made his life hell! Why help now?

"Dean!" She shouts, but it's too late. He's already stepped on the loose floorboards, and he doesn't even get a final glance before he's falling through the wreckage into the flames. They eat at his loose clothing, and is this what it feels like to die? He is screaming before he can remember the sound of his own voice. His hair is on fire, and his clothes are on fire, and his skin is on fire. And he is screaming like nothing he's ever heard before because it _hurts_. Holy Hell it hurts! The tears leaking from his eyes dry immediately in pale puffs of smoke as the flames lick at his face.

The pain fades though, and soon enough the room is doused and he's thrown into a blackness he's never seen. Tessa stands there, her tiny eyes shaking with mirth. "Dean." She whispers cautiously, and her dress is burnt like the clothes on his back. He knows now why Tessa was there, guiding him.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

"Oh, Dean." She smiles. "Oh Dean. You could've saved me."


End file.
